


Our way to fall

by oftirnanog



Series: You've got the love I need to see me through [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Future Fic, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftirnanog/pseuds/oftirnanog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, they’ve been dancing around each other for years, almost since Allison’s first day in Beacon Hills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our way to fall

Allison arrives late to the party because she’d underestimated how much time she’d need to pack. It turns out trying to decide what to bring with you to college is harder than it sounds. She’s not bringing a lot—it’s a tiny dorm room, after all—but the decision process has been a bit of an ordeal. 

Because of this she arrives at Derek’s a good two hours after everyone else and they’re all well on their way to drunk by the time she makes her way around the back of the house. Adirondack chairs have been arranged in a semi-circle near the back porch and the floodlights combined with the half-moon provide more than ample light. They’d all spent the summer pitching in to help Derek put the final touches on the Hale house renovations and it looks like a home again. The party is acting as both a housewarming and a good-bye before they all go off to college.

Isaac, Scott, and Derek are gathered around the barbecue while Isaac flips burgers and Allison smiles when Derek throws his head back to laugh at something Scott says. Danny is leaning against the front porch while Stiles gesticulates wildly to explain something—probably about werewolf lore or some other supernatural phenomenon they’ve come across in the past couple years. Boyd is digging through a cooler for another beer while Erica discusses something with Lydia who’s perched neatly on the arm of one of the chairs. 

Allison slows for a moment as she approaches them, taking a second to absorb the scene in front of her. She can feel something warm settle in her chest as she watches them. They’ve all managed to scrape their way this far and if you’d asked Allison two years ago if she thought this was possible, she’d probably have expressed her doubt that they’d all still be alive let alone enjoying a late summer party like it was the most natural thing in the world, like this is something they do all the time rather than on the rare occasion they aren’t occupied averting the latest supernatural disaster. 

“Allison,” Lydia calls, waving her over. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up,” she says once Allison’s made her way over to them.

“Couldn’t miss this,” Allison says, smiling at Erica. “Who knows when we’ll all be in the same place again?”

“Probably Christmas,” Erica says. “I think Stiles is already planning something for the holiday.”

“Of course he is,” Allison replies.

Boyd strolls over and hands Allison a bottle of something involving Bacardi. She tilts the bottle to look at the label.

“What is it?” she asks, looking up at Boyd who’s taking a pull from a bottle of Bud. “And why do you get beer?”

“Because it’s the last one and I’m not drinking whatever that is,” he replies, looping an arm around Erica’s shoulders, pulling her in as she wraps an arm around his waist.

“Not fair,” Allison says. She takes a sip and makes a face at the cloying sweetness. “Ugh, that’s a headache in a bottle.”

“Next time Scott doesn’t get any input when Derek makes a liquor run,” Erica says.

“I can’t believe he even listened to Scott,” Allison says, taking another tentative sip. It’s not as bad now that she knows what to expect.

“Me neither,” Boyd replies.

“I think they’re pretty good,” Lydia pipes up, and she slurs just enough that Allison takes notice.

Because Lydia doesn’t get drunk. There was that one time, right after the werewolf revelation, which Allison still feels guilty about, but generally speaking Lydia never lets herself get carried away. It’s a control thing, Allison figures. She’s watched Lydia nurse a single drink for the duration of an entire party. She always appears to be drinking, will hold that single drink all night unless her hands are otherwise occupied, but she doesn’t let herself get drunk. So it’s a surprise to see the way she sways on the arm of the chair, catching herself just before she slides off.

Allison glances at the ground by the chair and sees a substantial collection of empties. She raises her eyebrows and looks at Lydia with concern.

“What?” Lydia demands, her practiced hair-flick throwing her off balance again.

“Don’t worry,” Erica says quietly as she and Boyd walk past her towards the house, “some of those bottles are mine.”

“Having some fun tonight?” Allison says, stepping towards Lydia in case she needs to steady her.

“I figured why not,” Lydia says. “We’re graduated after all. This is our last hurrah before we scatter to the winds, so let’s live a little.”

She stands up, more steadily than Allison was expecting, and steps into Allison’s space, one hand reaching up to toy with Allison’s hair. Lydia makes a small noise, like she’s contemplating something or she’s just realized something.

The next thing Allison knows Lydia’s lips are pressed against her own and she can feel a hint of sweat on Lydia’s palm where it’s resting against her shoulder, and just like that she’s forgotten how to breath. Lydia tastes like the terrible coolers she’s been drinking, but also like the cherry lip gloss she’s wearing and Allison’s not even sure what her hands are doing right now, but she can’t hear over the sound of her own heart beating to figure it out.

Just as quickly as it started, Lydia’s pulled back from her, far enough that Allison wonders how they were even touching just seconds before. Then Stiles calls Lydia’s name and all Allison can do is watch her saunter away, her skirt rustling with the sway of her hips. She presses her lips together. They’re sticky with Lydia’s gloss and tingling now with her rapid heartbeat. She takes a long pull from her drink, downing more than half of it in one go, mostly because she can’t think of what else to do.

The next morning when Lydia and Stiles come to see her off on their way to Berkeley everything is as it always was. Lydia gives her a tight hug and winks at her as she gets in the car and never says anything about the kiss. 

Allison’s still not sure what to think about it more than a year later.

*

Allison doesn’t end up seeing everyone at Christmas. Her father decides to come visit her at UC Davis and they end up spending the holiday in Sacramento. She sees Stiles, Isaac, and Danny over spring break, but Lydia’s in Maui then. The next time they all see each other is over the summer, and everything’s pretty much normal until the following Christmas. Allison almost forgets the kiss ever happened. 

Except for how she doesn’t forget it at all.

Stiles’ dad offers up their house as a venue for the Christmas party that Stiles didn’t get to throw last year and Stiles makes up for that by turning it into a veritable winter wonderland. Allison can see the Christmas tree in the window decked out in tinsel and twinkling lights. 

She gets there at five expecting to be the first one there, so she’s surprised when Lydia answers the door.

“Allison!” Lydia exclaims, leaning forward to pull her into a hug. 

And Allison’s not sure what it is—if it’s the way her hair falls in perfect ringlets around her face or the way her fitted red dress should clash but instead looks perfect and stunning—but her stomach flips when Lydia’s arms loop around her back and shoulders. It’s silly because they spent almost their entire four-month summer break together and they Skype at least once a week, but Lydia smells like her Dolce and Gabbana perfume and she’s smiling in that way that makes her whole face light up and Allison’s breath catches stupidly in her chest.

“I was expecting Stiles,” Allison says.

Lydia rolls her eyes, but her smile stays firmly in place. “He’s making eggnog, apparently.”

“Making…” Allison trails off and wrinkles her nose. “From scratch.”

“I didn’t ask,” Lydia chuckles, shutting the door as Allison steps inside. “I left him to Danny.”

“Danny’s here too?”

“And Derek should be here soon with Scott and Isaac and Boyd. Erica won’t be here until later.”

“I can’t believe everyone was able to make it,” Allison says, following Lydia to the kitchen.

“Well,” Lydia replies, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. “Stiles was very insistent.”

“And aren’t you glad I was?” Stiles asks, walking over to Allison to give her a hug. “You look great,” he says, pulling back to look at her.

Allison glances down at the green empire waist dress she’s wearing. “Thanks.”

“She always looks great,” Danny puts in, grinning at her from where he’s stirring what appears to be the eggnog.

“Well that goes without saying,” Stiles replies, turning back to smile at Danny.

Allison glances between Danny and Stiles and throws a questioning look at Lydia who shrugs in response.

By ten o’clock everyone is pleasantly tipsy on the first batch of eggnog and Erica’s mulled wine, though Allison notices that Lydia’s been carrying the same glass of eggnog all evening. She feels strangely nervous around her tonight and it’s leaving her with a strange buzzing under her skin that has less to do with the alcohol and more to do with the way Lydia keeps flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Allison makes her way to the kitchen to help Stiles with the second batch of eggnog in an attempt to distract herself. She can’t help glancing back at Lydia.

“Soooo,” Allison says, coming up beside Stiles and nudging him with her hip. “You and Danny?” She figures if she can focus on someone else’s love woes she might feel better about the confusion of her own.

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, trying to sound long-suffering and failing. “There is no ‘me and Danny’.” He curls his fingers in air quotes for emphasis. “We’re just friends.”

“You flirt with all your friends like that?” Allison teases. “Because I have to say, if that’s the case I’m feeling a little insulted. You never flirt with me like that.”

Lydia laughs in the other room and Allison glances over to watch her for a moment.

“Please,” Stiles dismisses, pouring most of the rum into the bowl of eggnog.

Allison raises her eyebrows at the stream of booze. Stiles glances at her and shrugs, then adds another splash. Allison shakes her head and looks over at Lydia again, who catches her eye and winks. Allison can feel her cheeks heat and she grins down at her hands. When she looks up again, Stiles is looking at her with an amused and somewhat smug expression.

“What?” Allison asks, knowing full well what he’s getting at.

He looks over at Lydia who’s gone back to discussing something with Boyd (probably advanced mathematics as he’s the only one who doesn’t get completely lost when Lydia starts getting into it).

“‘What?’” Stiles repeats. “You’re really gonna play it that way?”

Allison gives him her best innocent look and takes a sip of her mulled wine.

“Fine,” Stiles says. “You want to make me say it? I’ll say it. So you and Lydia? You look at all your friends like that? ‘Cause I have to say, you never look at me like that and I think I’m a little insulted.”

He grins, looking a bit too pleased with himself, and Allison rolls her eyes, but she can feel herself flushing again. 

“Smug is not a good look on you,” she says dismissively, but then adds, “It’s nothing.”

“But you want something?” Stiles hedges, dropping his teasing tone. Stiles has always been good at knowing when to take things seriously. People sometimes think he isn’t, that he’s sarcastic and insensitive, but he isn’t when it matters.

“I don’t know, Stiles,” Allison sighs, setting her glass down on the counter and running a hand through her hair. “She’s my best friend, you know?”

Stiles nods. “I do know.” He looks into the living room where Danny’s having a serious discussion with Isaac.

“Well in your case I think the feeling might be mutual,” Allison says, following the path of Stiles’ eyes.

“Hm,” is the only response she gets from him. Stiles gives the eggnog a few unnecessary stirs and looks at her sideways. “If it makes you feel any better, that’s more attention than she ever gave me.”

Allison lets out a huff of laughter and Stiles grins. “And I tried for years,” he continues.

“I just…usually I can read her so well and now I feel like I can’t read her at all.”

“Maybe you just think you can’t read her,” Stiles suggests.

“Maybe.”

Stiles stares at her for a moment with a look that is a bit too calculating for Allison to be comfortable with.

“What?” she asks, frowning at him.

“Nothing,” he says, somewhat absently, and he seems distracted as he picks up the bowl of eggnog to take into the living room.

Allison frowns after him as he leaves the kitchen, but eventually shrugs it off at Stiles being Stiles and rejoins the party.

At the end of the night Stiles calls Allison over to where he’s talking to Lydia by the entrance between the living room and the front hall. When she reaches them Stiles takes off with a hasty, “Just one sec,” and disappears into the kitchen. Boyd emerges with Stiles close behind him a few moments later and grins at them.

Allison glances at Lydia, who looks just as perplexed as Allison feels, until Boyd says, “Well look who’s standing under the mistletoe.”

Stiles gives Allison a triumphant look and her stomach takes the opportunity to perform several back-flips. She must be sending Stiles some kind of distress signal because he raises his hands slightly in a gesture of surrender.

“Well it won’t be the first time,” Lydia murmurs so only Allison can hear and Allison’s head whips around to where Lydia is suddenly much closer to her.

“Come on,” Isaac eggs them on.

“It’s tradition,” another voice chimes in, and Allison’s pretty sure that’s Scott, which is a little weird, but Allison doesn’t bother turning to check.

Either way she’s going to kill them all. Stiles first, and then Boyd, who’s definitely in on this.

She’s not sure exactly how it happens, just that one moment she’s looking at Lydia, whose breath is ghosting over Allison’s cheeks, and she’s trying to read past the predatory grin that Allison knows is just for show, and the next she knows their lips are pressed together. And it’s stupid, and cheesy, and so, so cliché, but Allison’s palms are sweating slightly where they’re resting on Lydia’s hips and Lydia’s lips are perfect and soft as she flicks her tongue teasingly over Allison’s bottom lip.

Allison’s still in a daze when Lydia pulls away and sound comes rushing back in—she thinks someone might’ve wolf-whistled. Lydia’s cheeks are carrying a bit more colour than they were a moment ago and there’s something in her expression that Allison can’t decipher.

“Merry Christmas,” Lydia says, a bit out of breath.

“Merry Christmas,” Allison replies.

*

Two and a half years later Allison joins Lydia at Berkeley for law school while Lydia pursues her Master’s in mathematics in what Allison later refers to as The Berkeley Years.

Stiles takes a year off after graduating from his cognitive science program to save money for grad school and Danny gets a job as sous chef at a restaurant in San Francisco. Having finally figured their shit out, Stiles and Danny get an apartment together and it’s close enough to Berkeley that they make a point to see Allison and Lydia at least twice a month. There’s enough space at Allison and Lydia’s that Stiles and Danny usually just crash on nights they go out.

They hop around to the various nightlife options around the university, but mainly end up at a little Irish pub called Finnigan’s or a hole in the wall gay club called Pink Flamingo when they feel like dancing. The latter is tacky and crowded, but the drinks are cheap, the music’s good, and once a month they put on a killer drag show.

They wind up there on a Thursday night during spring break after Lydia and Allison have both finally caught up on their respective workloads and Stiles is returning from being in Beacon Hills for a week. Danny goes ahead with Lydia and Allison since Stiles won’t get in until later.

As soon as Stiles shows up Danny wraps himself around him and pulls him into the crowd by his belt loops. Stiles runs his hands up and down Danny’s sides while Danny sinks his fingers into Stiles’ grown-out hair and kisses him. With an obscene amount of tongue.

“And now they’re pretty much having sex on the dance floor,” Lydia says, taking a sip of her vodka cranberry. “We can’t take them anywhere.”

Allison raises her eyebrows at Lydia in agreement and shakes her head though she can’t keep the grin off her face because that relationship was a long time coming and they’re both stupidly happy now.

“They are unbelievable,” Allison says as Stiles grabs Danny’s ass in an attempt to pull him closer—an impossibility at this point.

“No shame,” Lydia agrees.

They both watch them get into a grinding rhythm that more or less keeps time with the music.

“They’re also kind of unfairly attractive,” Allison comments, because it’s true.

“Oh I’m sure we’re more than a match for them,” Lydia says, assessing them with narrowed eyes.

Allison’s eyebrows jump to her hairline as she stares at Lydia, but Lydia merely responds with an expression that can only be interpreted as a challenge.

And it’s not as though they’ve never danced together—they’re here on a regular basis after all—but competing with Stiles and Danny is going to require more than casual friend-type dancing.

“C’mon,” Lydia says, and downs the rest of her drink. It occurs to Allison as she polishes off her own drink, that Lydia must be slightly drunk. That’s her third drink already, and in fairly quick succession.

Lydia lets Allison deposit her glass on a nearby table and then drags her onto the dance floor as close to Stiles and Danny as they can get.

Allison bumps against Stiles as Lydia manoeuvres herself in front of Allison and presses back against her, grinding herself against Allison’s pelvis. Allison’s hands find their way to Lydia’s hips on their own, palms flat against the jutting bones there, fingers digging just slightly into the softer flesh of her abdomen, a gesture that is more possessive than Allison would have thought herself capable of. 

It probably still smells like sweat and the cloying-bitter-acridness of stale booze and lingering cigarettes. It did a moment ago. But that was before Allison had her nose buried in Lydia’s hair, before her face was that close to the red curls falling over the juncture of her neck and shoulder, surrounded by the floral musk of Lydia’s shampoo mingled with her perfume. 

Allison catches Stiles’ eye and he smirks at her before turning to bite at Danny’s neck. Her chuckle gets caught in her chest as her stomach twists hotly but she doesn’t have long to consider it before Lydia is turning to face her, draping her arms over Allison’s shoulders and tugging herself a bit closer. Allison’s focus narrows down the steady throb of bass vibrating through them, the sweat gathering between her shoulder blades and running in a thin stream down her back, the satisfied expression of concentration on Lydia’s face.

Every point of contact between them feels electric and Allison loses track of time, loses track of the songs that bleed together. Eventually Danny and Stiles break away from each other and Stiles pulls Allison out of her heady haze with a tap on the shoulder. He points at the bar to indicate where they’re going and catches Lydia’s attention. 

Lydia looks at Allison and tilts her head after them. Allison nods and moves to pull away, but Lydia holds her in place and kisses her. It’s quick and closed-mouthed, just a firm press of lips that from most people would be a simple thank-you. But nothing’s ever that simple with Lydia.

Allison just stands there when Lydia smiles at her, like this is a common occurrence, like it’s something they always do, like it’s not punching her in the gut every time it happens and there’s no follow through. But it’s Lydia. And Allison can’t be angry with her. So she swallows a sigh and forces a smile and follows Lydia to the bar where Danny and Stiles already have drinks waiting for them.

One day she might actually do something about this.

*

The werewolf stuff catches up with them because of course it does. 

It’s minor, but Allison has a run-in with an omega and winds up at Stiles and Danny’s apartment where Scott stitches up a gash on the side of her lower torso above her hip. He, Derek, and Boyd took over the apartment in their pursuit of the omega whom they’d followed from Beacon Hills along part of the coast before finally catching up in San Francisco.

Allison’s sitting on the bathroom sink in just her bra (because it’s nothing Scott hasn’t seen before) with her arm over her head gritting her teeth as Scott sews her up. Normally she would have gone to the hospital, but things like this often require far too much explanation and Scott’s finished veterinary college so he’s used to stitching up cuts if not on humans. 

Lydia barges into the bathroom just as Scott is covering the wound with gauze. Allison doesn’t think she imagines the flash of jealousy on Lydia’s face, but she finds herself wrapped up in Lydia’s arms before she has a chance to get a better look. Allison hisses when the stitches pull as she twists to get an arm around Lydia.

“Sorry,” Lydia murmurs, pressing the words into the hair at Allison’s temple. She doesn’t pull back though.

“Thanks,” Allison says, smiling at Scott.

“Any time,” Scott replies, flashing her his classic dimpled smile, and Allison feels a surge of affection for him.

He winks as he leaves the bathroom. Lydia still has Allison in an iron grip with her lips still pressed up against the side of Allison’s head. Allison gets her arm more securely around Lydia and squeezes back.

*

Allison’s flight gets into Boston at eight in the evening. Lydia meets her at the airport with an excited squeal waving a ridiculous sign as though Allison might not see her. Allison grins, wide and almost painful, and rushes over to grip her in a tight hug.

The air is still warm with late August heat when they step outside, but Allison can smell the first traces of autumn lingering on the breeze. They head immediately to the old brownstone that Lydia’s been living in for the last year while getting her doctorate degree. Lydia talks for the entire cab ride, hands flying excitedly to point out various sights or gesticulate as the part of some story.

Allison’s just glad to see her again. She’d gotten so used to living with Lydia those two years at Berkeley, to Lydia being a solid constant presence, that this past year of her living across the country had been nearly unbearable. 

She’s overwhelmed by the desire to kiss her.

The thing is, they’ve been dancing around each other for years, almost since Allison’s first day in Beacon Hills, and Allison’s missed her. Missed her in a way she didn’t think she could ever miss anybody, even through that whole debacle with Scott in high school. And Allison’s tired. Tired of pretending those kisses mean nothing. Tired of making excuses to herself for not acting. Tired of never quite knowing what that expression on Lydia’s face means. Because she’s good at reading Lydia. Is one of the few people who can consistently see past the façade she so carefully maintains with everyone, even her closest friends, and Allison hates having this blind spot.

So when they get Allison’s luggage inside and Lydia flicks the light on in the bedroom that’s to be hers, Allison crowds into Lydia’s space and sets her hands on Lydia’s hips.

Lydia swallows audibly and asks, “So how’s the room?”

Allison smiles, says, “It’s perfect,” and then kisses her. Lydia tenses at first, but Allison can feel her relax in increments as she works their lips together, coaxing Lydia’s apart with her tongue.

And just like that Lydia opens her mouth to draw Allison in, tangling their tongues and surging forward with her entire body so that Allison stumbles slightly, finds herself pressed back against the wall. Allison rocks her hips forward, gets her hands in Lydia’s curls, and Lydia makes a low keening noise that Allison feels in the base of her spine. 

They’re both breathing heavily when they break apart for air, their chests heaving against each other, and Allison wants to get her mouth on Lydia’s breasts, but settles instead for swift pecking kisses while they catch their breath. Lydia’s thumbs rub circles into the skin above Allison’s hips where her shirt has ridden up. She lets her head fall forward to Allison’s shoulder and lets out a satisfied giggle.

“Is it moving too fast if I ask you to take this off?” Lydia asks, lifting her head to meet Allison’s eyes as she toys with the hem of her shirt.

Allison pushes her hips forward involuntarily and shakes her head. Lydia’s eyes darken and flutter shut and they get lost in kisses again before Lydia finally manages to pull the shirt over Allison’s head. Allison swallows as Lydia eyes her, hands running teasingly along her sides, over the scar where Scott stitched her up, and then, only with slight hesitation, over her bra-covered breasts.

Allison starts unbuttoning Lydia’s blouse and pushes it off her shoulders impatiently as Lydia pushes Allison’s bra straps off her shoulders. Lydia glances at her and Allison pushes away from the wall to get her hands behind her back and unclasp her bra. She tosses it to the floor and Lydia leans down to nip at Allison’s collarbone, undoing her own bra as she works her way down to press her mouth to Allison’s right nipple.

Allison gasps and cups one hand around the back of Lydia’s head as she presses the other into the wall behind her. Lydia moves to the other nipple and as Allison’s head thunks back against the wall she registers Lydia’s fingers working at the button of her jeans. She tries to concentrate as Lydia drops to her knees, tugging Allison’s jeans and underpants down in one quick, smooth movement. Lydia lifts Allison’s right foot gently to free it from her pants and then coaxes her whole leg over her shoulder as she drags her teeth over Allison’s hipbone. She soothes over the spot with her tongue and then noses at the short pubic hair.

“Lydia,” Allison breathes, low and pleading.

And then the wet warmth of Lydia’s tongue is sliding over Allison’s clit. Allison moans and tries to stop herself from bucking forward, which results in an aborted twitch that has Lydia bending herself for a better angle. She licks at Allison’s folds before moving back to swirl the tip of her tongue over the hardened nub. Allison twitches again, her legs threatening to give out on her, and she’s already at the edge, so close she can barely see straight.

With a light graze of teeth and a flick of tongue that returns with just the right amount of pressure, Allison’s entire body bows forward as her muscles tingle and clench so the only thing she can hear is the blood rushing in her ears. She blinks and registers Lydia pressing a kiss into her thigh before wiping her mouth. Allison’s about to slide down to Lydia when Lydia stands up and kisses her.

The taste of herself in Lydia’s mouth is enough to send aftershocks through her. She runs her hands up Lydia’s back and remembers that she’s shirtless and hasn’t had a chance to fully enjoy that yet.

She shifts her hands to cup Lydia’s breasts and runs an experimental thumb over each nipple, relishing the way Lydia’s hair falls when she tips her head back. Allison dips forward to suck at the hollow of her throat and lets her hands move back around and down the smooth skin of Lydia’s back over the curve of her ass and under her skirt. Allison kisses her again, smiling against her lips as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of Lydia’s underpants and pulls them down far enough so they fall past her knees.

Rather than bother removing the skirt, Allison just pushes it up at the front and finally, finally gets her fingers on Lydia. She’s so wet and Allison’s ramped up all over again with Lydia shivering against her and kissing her hard enough that it almost hurts. Allison rubs Lydia’s clit between her index and middle finger and Lydia moans and bucks, her mouth falling open. 

Allison could tease her like this forever, but she also wants to get her off, so the presses two fingers inside of her and curls them at just the right angle to get at the right spot.

“Allison!” Lydia shouts, shuddering against her.

Allison presses her thumb against Lydia’s clit, keeping with the rhythm of the fingers thrusting into her and before she knows it she can feel Lydia clenching around her, shaking and clutching at whatever part of Allison’s body her hands happen to find. 

Then Lydia’s hands fall away and Allison has a moment of temporary panic where she thinks this may have all been a huge mistake and maybe Lydia just got caught up in the moment and how are they ever going to look at each other again if that’s the case? Except then one of Lydia’s hands finds its way into Allison and it tugs her down to the floor where Lydia has collapsed in a heap of sated exhaustion. Allison slides down with her, letting their legs tangle together, and Lydia rests her other hand, the one that isn’t entwined with Allison’s, on the side of Allison’s neck and leans forward to kiss her, gentle and languid now that they’ve fucked away most of the desperation.

“So this room’s been christened,” Lydia says, dry and teasing.

Allison’s eyebrows jump in surprise and then she’s laughing, so hard she’s folding in around Lydia and there are tears streaming from her eyes, all the tension and worry bleeding away to be replaced with delight. She feels more than hears Lydia join in. And her body is warm and damp where they’re pressed together, and the zipper of her jeans is pressing uncomfortably into her ass, and her ankle’s twisted at an awkward angle that’s going to start hurting in a few minutes. And it’s perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> This will likely turn into a series wherein Allison and Lydia exist in cloyingly adorable domesticity with some angst thrown in for good measure. Fair warning. (Title from 'Our Way to Fall' by Yo La Tengo)


End file.
